


The Song of Nikolaos and Yusuf

by ToBebbanburg



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: M/M, Top!Joe, apologies to Homer for bastardising his work, but not really, but this is the old guard so what do you expect, did someone say achilles and patroclus au, slight spoiler warning for temporary character death, well here it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26288059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBebbanburg/pseuds/ToBebbanburg
Summary: What if Nicky and Joe took Achilles and Patroclus' places in the Trojan War? And what if Andromache wasn't just the meek wife of Hector? This is the epic Homer AU no one asked for, but you're all getting.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 22
Kudos: 143





	The Song of Nikolaos and Yusuf

The ship that was to take them to war was black. Its hulls, its sails, and even the oars were all painted as dark as night. It made Nikolaos feel uneasy: he had always imagined going off to lay siege to a city in such a battle would be exciting, full of men joking with each other as they packed their belongings, children cheering on the bravery of their fathers. Instead, he was treated to a sombre parade of dour-faced men kissing their weeping wives goodbye, not a single laugh or smile in the air. There had been many wars and skirmishes before. Somehow, every man there knew that this was different.

“At least we have each other.” Yusuf remarked as they watched Kleon, as hard a man as any of their brothers wipe away a tear as his young daughter cried out for him not to leave. “I would not be able to bear the thought of leaving you behind if I had to journey to Troy alone.”

It wasn’t their first time setting off to go and fight: the two men had been called upon several times to help defend Phthia and their allies, but this was the first time they had set out as the attackers. Sailing out to lay siege to a city, over a single woman no less, was a very different feeling.

“What if she wanted to leave?” Nikolaos wondered aloud as they stood at the waterfront watching their men load the ship with provisions. “What if we’re going to war over nothing but Menelaus’ wounded pride?”

“Men have gone to war over less.” Yusuf replied, but Nikolaos could tell his words were hollow. He was just as uneasy about the war as Nikolaos was.

“The first time I saw you was on a ship like this.” Nikolaos said lightly, in an attempt to change the solemn mood. “I was desperately jealous: I’d always wanted to stand on the deck of a ship but father had never let me.”

“I remember.” Yusuf grinned. “You questioned me about my journey over all the way back to the palace.”

“I had never gone further than the borders of Phthia and yet you had crossed an entire sea.”

“This journey will be shorter than that one. With a less pleasant destination.” Yusuf said grimly, bringing Nikolaos back to their bleak present.

Nikolaos sighed and turned his attention back to the ship. Twenty years had passed since he had stood in the very same spot, waiting for Yusuf to arrive. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

****

Nikolaos was only seven when he met Yusuf. Seven years old, and if he thought his father taking him on an unexpected trip to the harbour was unusual, it was only for a brief moment. Nikolaos loved the waterfront. His mother had been a water nymph, his father always said, which might have explained his fascination with watching the waves crest and break on the sand, but mostly he loved the ships. There were big ones and small ones, some with colourful sails and flags and some with no sails at all. The big ones were the best, but however much Nikolaos begged and begged his father would never take him on board one.

That particular day there was little time for playing in the shallows or watching the waves, as King Peleus made his only son stand tediously upright as a large ship seemed to take forever to dock in the harbour.

“Can we go on it?” Nikolaos asked, his mind latching onto the only possible explanation for being brought down to watch a ship draw up oh so slowly.

“No, that’s not why we’re here. Weren’t you listening?” Peleus chastised, though his tone wasn’t entirely stern. Nikolaos’ thoughts were prone to wandering in the way children’s minds do, and evidently thoughts of catching bugs and training with his wooden sword had been more important than listening to his father at times.

“We’re here to welcome a guest. A boy, about your age, from Carthage. He’ll be staying with us for a while.” Peleus gently reminded his son.

“Why?” Nikolaos asked, turning his head up to gaze at his father.

“He’s the youngest of four sons. The oldest brother will inherit the kingdom, the second brother will become king if the first dies, and the third has become a priest of sorts. Yusuf has little awaiting him back home, so his parents sent him here.”

“Why?” Nikolaos asked again, though it was a different ‘why’ from the first. Peleus chuckled.

“A long long time ago I fought alongside his father in battle. That’s a special bond, Nikolaos, one I hope you and Yusuf may one day share yourselves. I offered to take Yusuf in and raise him here, in the hopes he may make a name for himself and one day marry well.”

“Marriage.” Nikolaos muttered, disgusted at the thought. Marriage meant having to spend all your time with a girl, and the only girl he knew was Xanthe, who was one year older than him and liked to laugh whenever he fell over during his training.

“You might think differently one day.” Peleus ruffled Nikolaos’ hair then straightened up. “Look smart, boy. They’re disembarking.”

Nikolaos waited eagerly for his first sight of the boy. Besides Xanthe there were few other children in the palace, and though his tutor kept him busy for several hours a day there were times when he wished he had someone to play with. He hoped Yusuf liked catching bugs.

After what seemed like every sailor on the ship had disembarked, the boy finally emerged. He was alone, but did not seem bothered by it despite only being a year or so older than Nikolaos. He was tall, with a mass of tight curls that fell in his eyes, but what Nikolaos noticed the most was his smile. It was the sort of smile someone who liked catching bugs and climbing trees would have.

“Pleased to meet you.” The boy said. “I’m Yusuf.”

Nikolaos liked him.

****

The terrible thing was, they were both _good_ at war. They had both benefited from years of training under the finest warriors Phthia had to offer, and their experience defending their land had served them well. They cut and kicked and shouted their way through the men who stood outside the great city of Troy as though one body, the two of them working together as effortlessly as breathing. They could hold their own as individuals, or course, but together they were near unstoppable. That made them targets.

If Yusuf and Nikolaos were the heroes of the attacking Greeks, it was Andromache the Amazon who was the defender of the Trojans. There had been rumours she was Hector’s wife, stolen from her people as Helen had been snatched from the Greeks, but the ferocity with which she rode out onto the battlefield each morning soon put such whispers to rest. She seemed like Athena herself, striking men down with her spear from atop her horse, and when she fought on foot it was as though Ares guided her every strike.

It was bound to happen: the greatest warriors of both sides of any war were always fated to face each other, but Yusuf’s heart still went cold the day Andromache turned her sights to them.

It should have been an embarrassment to the Greeks, their two greatest men unable to best one woman, but in the weeks they had been fighting she had established herself as something more than a woman. There was no shame in falling in battle if Andromache the Defender was the one to strike the blow. Yusuf had no time for such thoughts anyways, as he struck and parried as fast as he could, he and Nikolaos trying their best to break through her defence but barely making a mark.

It was luck that aided them in the end: a horn sounding out from Troy’s walls that captured Andromache’s attention just long enough for Yusuf to stab his sword up and under her breastplate. She staggered, turning away from him, towards the city, and as she fell she drove her sword towards Nikolaos.

It was a fortunate escape. As Andromache bled out on the ground Nikolaos grunted in pain, but as Yusuf focused on the source of his agony he saw with relief it was just a leg wound. A long cut, but shallow, and Nikolaos would survive if Yusuf had anything to say about it.

As many men died from infections in their wounds than they did from the wounds themselves, and there was always a chance even a small cut like Nikolaos’ could turn fatal. But Yusuf had studied medicine under Chiron the centaur, and knew how to prevent such an outcome. He gave a prayer of thanks to the gods for their fortune, and defended Nikolaos on the battlefield until the light faded and they could limp back to their camp.

****

The day Yusuf became a man was the day he travelled back to Carthage for the first time in a decade. He was away from Phthia, and by extension Nikolaos for a full year, and though he was overjoyed to see his parents and brothers again he ached to return to Greece. The palace and streets of Carthage were familiar and comforting, but in an almost ethereal way that remembering a dream feels like. By contrast his memories of Nikolaos and Phthia were brighter, sharper. He wondered if Nikolaos missed him as much as Yusuf did.

When he did finally return to Phthia, Nikolaos was gone.

“Taken up Mount Pelion,” Peleus told him. “His mother wants him to learn from Chiron.”

“Oh.” Yusuf couldn’t help but be disappointed. His whole voyage back he had been thinking about his reunion with Nikolaos, the stories and jokes from the past year they would tell each other. “For how long?”

“A year.” Peleus said, then his tone softened as he looked at Yusuf’s expression. “Go join him. I had planned to have you assist me in running the affairs of the kingdom but you should also have the chance to benefit from Chiron’s wisdom.”

Yusuf knew he should refuse: he was a grown man now, and his duty was to serve Peleus and Phthia, but the call of Nikolaos and the prospect of learning from the great Chiron was too much. He didn’t stay a single night in the palace, and instead set out immediately on his journey to Mount Pelion.

It was quiet in the forest at the foot of the mountain. The nearest village was a full day’s walk away, and Yusuf only had Peleus’ hazy instructions on how to find Chiron to guide him. As he looked up at Mount Pelion, mentally preparing himself for the climb ahead, he noticed a figure standing in the mouth of a cave just a little way up the hill. Nikolaos. Yusuf adjusted his pack and started his ascent, spurred on by the sight.

Yusuf had left Nikolaos a year ago as a lanky boy, unsteady in his growing body, but the person stood before him now was a man. Nikolaos had grown into himself, shedding the last remnants of baby fat, and his face was now breathtakingly chiselled. He almost seemed a stranger, but then he caught sight of Yusuf and his face broke into a smile and suddenly he was the Nikolaos Yusuf remembered. He dropped the handful of arrows he held in his hand and ran down the slope to greet Yusuf, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” He said, his eyes shining as he pulled away. “I thought you’d perhaps decide to stay in Carthage, or prefer to spend the year studying with my father.”

“As if I would let the opportunity to live in the wild with you for a little while pass.” Yusuf laughed. “Think off all the bugs we can catch here.” He added, remembering Nikolaos’ obsession as a child.

“That’s true.” Nikolaos grinned, and it was like they had never been parted at all. They were interrupted by a voice calling out for Nikolaos from the cave, followed by the emergence of a stately centaur.

“Ah.” Chiron said looking Yusuf up and down. “I thought you’d be here sooner.”

That Chiron was apparently expecting him was a little disconcerting, but Yusuf soon learnt that that was simply the centaur’s way. He was never sure whether he actually had the gift of prophecy, or if he were simply very good at guessing, but the two amounted to the same anyways and Yusuf soon stopped giving it much thought.

Yusuf swore he learnt more in that year with Chiron than he had in his previous 19 years of life. He learnt the secrets of the trees and rocks and animals around them, how to bend nature to his will to create healing tonics and poultices, how to use the land to his advantage whether he was hunting or finding shelter.

The two men spent their mornings under Chiron’s careful tutelage and their afternoons exploring the mountains and forests that were their temporary home. Chiron had taught Yusuf how to make parchment from reeds, and Yusuf took to drawing daily with pieces of charcoal. He drew the animals they came across, the views from the tops of the hills, but more often than not he found himself drawing Nikolaos.

He wasn’t sure when exactly it became more than idle sketching. When his drawings had evolved from more than artistic studies of the human body to the urge to capture Nikolaos’ very essence. He drew dozens of pictures, trying to recreate the way his smile changed his whole face, the way his hair blew in the breeze, the way he looked like Apollo himself when lit by the golden rays of a day’s first light.

He and Nikolaos had been each other’s closest companions for over a decade, and yet Yusuf felt them becoming closer still. There was something more growing between them, he was sure of it. He fell in tune with Nikolaos’ body, every laugh and snort and sigh resonating deep within him in a way he had never felt before. He often caught Nikolaos watching him, his bright eyes on Yusuf when they should have been on Chiron, his body seemingly orienting itself to Yusuf as though drawn to him. It made Yusuf’s heart pound and his thoughts go hazy and his body _want_.

They were bathing in the stream when it happened. Nikolaos had fallen a few days ago whilst scrambling up a rock face, and had cut himself along his ribs and hands. Chiron had viewed it as a learning experience, and had watched intently as Yusuf carefully prepared the right mixture of herbs to apply to Nikolaos’ cuts. The cuts had healed without infection, and Yusuf was silently proud that even if Nikolaos wouldn’t look after his own body, Yusuf could.

“The scar’s almost faded now.” Yusuf remarked as they washed themselves, his fingers idly lightly tracing the pale line along Nikolaos’ ribs. Nikolaos laughed and jerked away from his touch, causing ripples to spread across the shallow water as he did.

“You know I’m ticklish there.” He reproached.

“No?” Yusuf cocked his head to one side, pretending to consider. “That can’t be, let me check.”

He lunged for Nikolaos, grabbing him around the torso and holding him in place as he tickled up and down his ribs. Nikolaos kicked and struggled as he tried to escape Yusuf’s fingers, but Yusuf was taller and stronger and just about managed to keep a hold of him.

Nikolaos gave a final heave of strength in an effort to free himself, but only succeeded in pulling himself and Yusuf down to the ground, half in and half out of the stream.

Yusuf’s back hit the ground first, Nikolaos on top of him, and the water from the stream gently lapped around them as they caught their breath. They were still laughing, Yusuf’s arms still wrapped around Nikolaos’ body when something suddenly changed.

Looking back, Yusuf would have sworn that the world slowed, that the stream stilled to a trickle and the trees froze in the wind as he met Nikolaos’ eyes. Nikolaos made no move to get off from him, and instead gazed down at Yusuf’s face as though seeing it for the first time. The moment seemed to hang in the air for an eternity before Nikolaos brought his lips down to meet Yusuf’s own, brushing against them so fleetingly it made Yusuf wonder if it had ever happened at all.

His wonder lasted a mere second, as he moved his own head up to chase the kiss, to capture Nikolaos’ lips in his own. His lips were soft, wetted by the stream and tasted faintly of the goat’s cheese they’d had with their breakfast. It was wonderful.

He wasn’t sure who deepened the kiss, who first parted the other’s lips with their tongue and moaned into the other’s mouth, but suddenly they were exploring each other’s mouths with a passion neither had experienced before. Everything about it was perfect. This was Nikolaos, Yusuf’s Nikolaos, his best friend and closest companion who had grown into a beautiful young man. A beautiful young man who seemed determined to run his hands across every inch of Yusuf’s body as they kissed, stroking down his arms, tracing the lines of his torso, reaching down to grab his-

“Is this alright?” Nikolaos broke the kiss to ask. His lips were red and swollen slightly, and his hair fell across his face in a way that made Yusuf ache to brush back behind his ears. Yet now they had started, Yusuf found he had a more pressing ache.

“Please.” He replied. He hadn’t even realised that his cock had started to harden, but as Nikolaos tentatively wrapped his hand around it he suddenly couldn’t think of anything but the urgent need for release.

“I’ve thought about doing this since you got here.” Nikolaos told him as he worked his hand, his other hand toying with Yusuf’s balls, testing the weight and feel of them. “As soon as you stepped out of the woods with that beard of yours, I wanted you. By the gods, Yusuf, I’ve always loved you but now... I’ve spent every night since you returned wondering what it would feel like to have you beneath me. What it would be like to taste you.”

“Taste?” Yusuf asked weakly. It was all too much for him; the wonderful glide of Nikolaos’ hand against him, the cool stream running past his feet, the _words_ Nikolaos was saying. He was close, he could feel it, and when Nikolaos quirked a smile at him and moved down his body to take the tip of Yusuf’s cock in his mouth and suck, Yusuf couldn’t hold back any longer and let go.

Nikolaos coughed and instinctively spat into the stream, then laughed, wiping his perfect mouth on the back of his hand and looking up at Yusuf with an incredibly pleased expression on his face.

“Well.” Was all he said, before he moved back up Yusuf’s body to kiss him again. Yusuf eagerly returned the kiss, desperate for more of his own taste of Nikolaos. He became aware of Nikolaos moving against him, rubbing his own hard length along Yusuf’s thigh, and Yusuf worked his hand down between them to take a hold of Nikolaos.

It didn’t last long until Nikolaos came undone, his kisses turning into gasps against Yusuf’s lips as he spilt into Yusuf’s hand. They didn’t move for a while after, both men content to lie tangled in each other still partially lying in the stream. It felt _right,_ Yusuf thought, to talk and joke with Nikolaos as they always had, but also to stop the words in his mouth with a kiss, to be able to look at him without worrying about hiding the strength of his love from his gaze.

They continued in secret for a while, only taking their pleasure of each other when they were well away from Chiron with no risk of discovery, but the centaur soon made it clear he had little issue with their newfound joy.

“Many men form such bonds.” Chiron told them one night. “Some bonds are even encouraged,” he continued, “as many believe men fight harder if they have their lover by their side. But this, I think, is more. More than the carnal desires of youth.”

Yusuf met Nikolaos’ eyes across from him and agreed. This was more than just lust. Nikolaos was everything to him. He was the air Yusuf breathed, the blood in his veins, and there was no life Yusuf wanted to live that did not have Nikolaos in it. The corners of Nikolaos’ mouth lifted slightly as he returned Yusuf’s gaze, and Yusuf knew he felt the same. Chiron was right. This was _more_.

****

Nikolaos’ leg healed well from Andromache’s wound, a testament to Yusuf’s skills, and within a few days there was nothing but a thin scar remaining.

For those days, it almost seemed like the Greeks could win. With Andromache gone, the Trojans seemed to lose heart, and for every Greek soldier slain at least two Trojans followed him to the underworld. Until Andromache returned.

Nikolaos could have sworn Yusuf had killed her. He was certain he had seen the light leave her eyes as she had stabbed him, had fought over her motionless body. Yet there she was, sitting high and proud on her horse, spear in hand. The tide of battle instantly turned and once again, the Greeks started to lose.

They fought for many more weeks, and Nikolaos began to lose heart. Every day was the same. They went to battle. They fought, they killed, they burned their dead. And there were so many dead. Of all the men who had followed him from Phthia only half remained, and of those men only half were fit to fight.

They were fighting for Helen, Agamemnon had said. Fighting so she could return to her husband Menelaus, and yet Nikolaos had seen Helen’s face as she stood above them, looking down at the battle from Troy’s great walls. She stood, and she wept, but not once did she cry out to Menelaus. Not once did she beg for him to save her, to cry and wail about her capture by the Trojans.

Nikolaos began to wonder what they were really fighting for, if the woman they were supposed to save did not even wish her own liberation. The initial rush of conviction and excitement he had felt at the start of the war left him, replaced by a hollow feeling he couldn’t quite shake. The only consolation in his growing despair was that Yusuf was still with him, and without a word passing between them he knew his love felt the same.

Yusuf drew the faces of the fallen. Not all of them, he could never draw them all, but he drew the men from Phthia, the men who camped near him, the men who he rode out to battle alongside. Sometimes he drew the fallen Trojans, too: the men who died protecting their city from invaders, the men who viewed themselves as the wounded party.

“You used to draw me.” Nikolaos remarked one evening, as they sat outside their tent.

“I still do.” Yusuf replied, showing Nikolaos a rough sketch from several days ago. He had captured Nikolaos’ pensive sadness perfectly, and it made Nikolaos realise just how empty the war had made him.

“Why are we fighting?” Nikolaos said, suddenly filled with a new conviction. “We’re told we’re fighting for love: what love would demand the deaths of so many? We’re told we’re fighting for pride: how can we be proud of such a stalemate? I will not fight anymore. I refuse to.”

Yusuf nodded, reaching out across the dirt to link his fingers with Nikolaos’.

“Once again our hearts beat as one. I do not care for this war anymore than you do.”

“You will not fight either?” Nikolaos had to check. He wouldn’t blame Yusuf if he wished to carry on fighting, but it would be torture to watch him leave for battle every morning, knowing he left to fight alone.

“I will fight if there is a just reason. This... this is not right.” Yusuf replied.

Nikolaos didn’t respond, but his fingers tightened their hold on Yusuf’s. They had fought side by side, and now they would refuse to fight together. They sat there until night fell, until the graves and bodies and tents were all enveloped by darkness. Nikolaos wished his memories could be erased as easily as his sight.

When morning came neither man stirred to put on his armour, and together they sat, hands entwined, watching the battle unfold in front of them.

***

Agamemnon was not happy. Agamemnon was rarely happy, it was true, but Nikolaos and Yusuf’s refusal to fight worked him into a rage the likes of which few of the men had ever seen before. He could take one coward refusing to fight, he could take two, but dozens if not a hundred or so men had laid down their weapons as well. The men would not fight without their heroes leading the charge, and Agamemnon’s siege suffered immediately.

“Let’s turn around and go home then.” Nikolaos had simply shrugged when Agamemnon summoned them to him. He only just managed to avoid the amphora of wine thrown at his head.

“If the men do not wish to fight you cannot force them.” Yusuf added, glad that the king didn’t have another jar to hand.

“If you would fight, the men would follow you.” Agamemnon spat.

“It’s a shame they won’t fight for you.” Nikolaos said, turning on his heel and leaving Agamemnon seething with rage.

Yusuf considered staying behind to attempt to smooth matters over, but decided the look on the king’s face suggested there was nothing left he could say. He was about to jog to catch up with the retreating form of Nikolaos when Odysseus caught his arm.

“Yusuf, you’re the only one who can change his mind. Talk to him, please.” Odysseus’ voice was as calm as always, but the grip he had on Yusuf’s arm was firm. Yusuf shook him off.

“You ask this as if I want to change his mind. We are in agreement over this: this war is unjust, and we will not fight.”

“Is it just for our men, your brothers and sisters to be slaughtered on the battlefield because you two are too stubborn to fight?”

“That is not our fault.” Yusuf said angrily.

“Do you truly believe that? Are you able to sleep at night, your conscience free of blood?” Odysseus pushed.

Yusuf swore. He was right. They were in this war whether they liked it or not, and his and Nikolaos’ reluctance to fight was only hurting their own men. But still. If more men refused to fight, Agamemnon would have to retreat sooner or later. He told Odysseus as much.

“I told Agamemnon you would say words to that effect. You’re a man of principle, Yusuf, and I admire that. Unfortunately the king has fewer… morals, shall we say, and has asked that I relay a message to Nikolaos.” Odysseus’ words sounded rehearsed, and Yusuf thought the man must have somehow foreseen his and Nikolaos’ refusal to bow to Agamemnon’s will.

“What is it?” Yusuf asked, his heart heavy.

“Nikolaos’ wife… Deidameia? She’s been sent for. The king thought it might help if Nikolaos had a little incentive to fight again.”

Deidameia. She was not Nikolaos’ true love, could never be, but both he and Yusuf had come to love her as a sister. The silent threat of what Agamemnon would do to her if he did not get his way did not bear thinking about.

“If we don’t see Nikolaos’ famous armour out there tomorrow, I fear for her.” Odysseus said softly.

“The man’s a monster.” Yusuf swore. Odysseus nodded, and for the first time there was something almost sad in his eyes.

“Count yourself lucky you never married.” He said. “Talk to him, Yusuf. Please.”

****

“Talk to him, Yusuf, please. He’ll listen to you.” Peleus urged Yusuf. Yusuf shook his head.

“Not on this matter. You know how stubborn he is.”

“A trait he sadly inherited from his mother.” Peleus smiled wryly. “He has to marry, Yusuf. I have no other children and he’s enjoyed his freedom for long enough. Deidameia is a good girl, she’d make a good wife.”

Yusuf tried hard to keep a neutral expression on his face, and nodded in agreement. Deidameia would doubtless make a good wife. He just did not wish to see her married to Nikolaos.

“I do not think Nikolaos wishes to marry, whoever the girl may be.” Yusuf said carefully. Peleus’ smile faltered slightly, and he sat down on his cushioned bench, motioning for Yusuf to join him.

“I thought as much.” He said. He refused to look at Yusuf, instead gazing out past the curtains and into the palace gardens. It was a sunny day, the rains of the week before a distant memory, and Yusuf was itching to go outside, to take Nikolaos down to the stream and swim and read and draw until the sun set. He got the impression from Peleus’ voice that his hopes for the day would have to be put on hold.

“I’ve seen the way my son looks at you. I’ve seen the way you look at him. I may be old, but I am not yet blind.” Peleus said softly.

Yusuf’s heart started to race, his thoughts of bathing in the stream long gone.

“I do not disapprove, as such, but should you come between my son and marriage then I will be forced to reconsider.” Peleus continued. Yusuf swallowed.

“What do you mean?”

Peleus finally turned to look at him, and his normally kindly face was stern.

“Convince Nikolaos to marry Deidameia. Convince him, and you can stay here as his companion. So long as he fulfils his marital duties and produces an heir I do not care one bit what he does with you. But if he does not marry, and if you are the reason, then I’m afraid your time in my kingdom will come to an end.”

“I see.” Yusuf said, though the words sounded thick in his ears. There was too much to take in. Peleus was aware of his and Nikolaos’ feelings for each other. Peleus either wanted Nikolaos married or Yusuf gone from the palace. He had to talk to Nikolaos. He stood up suddenly.

“I’ll… I’ll talk to him.” He said, and Peleus nodded.

“I’ve come to love you like another son, Yusuf.” The old man said. “It would be a shame to have to send you away.”

Yusuf barely heard him. He hurried through the corridors of the palace to Nikolaos’ room, his heart now pounding so hard he could scarcely tell one beat from the next. Nikolaos was lying on his bed, staring resolutely at the ceiling and idly picking apart the stitching of an embroidered cushion.

“What did my father want?” he asked.

“He wants me to talk you into marrying Deidameia.” Yusuf sat down on the edge of the bed. His whole body felt tense, and he felt vaguely nauseous. He took a deep breath. “I told him I would try.”

“And you can tell him you tried very hard, and I said no.”

Yusuf said nothing in response, and a second later Nikolaos sat bolt upright.

“No. No. You don’t actually agree with him do you?” It was impossible to work out whether Nikolaos was more hurt or disgusted by the notion.

“Your father knows about us.” Yusuf said softly. “He suggested that I give you two options to choose from. Either you marry Deidameia and we see each other in secret, or you refuse to marry her and he sends me back to Carthage.”

“Or we leave. Together. No one marries anyone.” Nikolaos said desperately. “We could go back to Chiron, or become farmers somewhere far away from here.”

“Would you really be content to spend the rest of your days as a farmer?” Yusuf asked.

“If you were with me, yes.” Nikolaos’ eyes were earnest.

“And what of your father?” Yusuf pushed. He so wanted to say yes, to run away with Nikolaos and start a new life together, but he knew Nikolaos would regret it. As much as he fought against his father’s wishes he loved the man, and would doubtless soon hate the pain he would cause by running away. Nikolaos realised this too, as his mutinous expression turned mournful.

“We could still see each other?” He asked quietly, staring down at his knees. He had already decided, Yusuf knew, but he nodded anyway.

“Many men spend their nights in beds other than their wives. You would not be the first.”

“This isn’t fair to you.” Nikolaos said.

“It isn’t fair to anyone.” Yusuf corrected, reaching out with one hand to gently lift Nikolaos’ chin until their faces were mere inches apart. “But this way I won’t be made to leave you.”

“I would kill anyone who tried to take you from me.” Nikolaos promised, his eyes wet with tears that were moments from falling. “My father, Deidameia: they won’t change anything. I will always be yours.”

Before Yusuf could respond Nikolaos kissed him, and as their lips began to move as one Yusuf could feel the tears finally spill down Nikolaos’ cheeks. There was something desperate in the way Nikolaos kissed him, in the way his tongue worked its way into Yusuf’s mouth as though craving the taste of him, in the way his hands scrabbled against Yusuf’s back as though no amount of touch could ever be enough.

He crawled onto Yusuf’s lap and took Yusuf’s face between both his hands to kiss him deeper, and as he settled down Yusuf could feel him hardening against him.

“You say my father knows.” Nikolaos said breathlessly in between kisses, his hips moving in slow circles against Yusuf’s own. “Then so should the rest of the palace. I want you to take me, Yusuf, so hard that there can be no doubt that my heart and body belong to you and you alone.”

Yusuf groaned, Nikolaos’ words and actions combining to make his own cock fill and stiffen. It was stupid, it was foolish, but he suddenly needed everyone to _know_. Needed everyone to hear Nikolaos cry out his name, begging for release.

“Are you sure?” he asked, wanting to make sure Nikolaos wouldn’t regret his impulsiveness. Nikolaos simply reached over to the shelf by his bed and handed Yusuf the small jar of oil he kept there. He was sure.

Nikolaos normally held back his moans when they did this, choked on the cries of pleasure in his throat and came whispering Yusuf’s name, but not that time. He groaned as Yusuf entered him with his fingers, low and uninhibited, and urged him on as Yusuf opened him up with a voice clear as day. When Yusuf finally entered him he gave a sharp cry that was sweeter than any music Yusuf had ever heard, and an answering moan was pulled from Yusuf’s throat.

The tears on Nikolaos’ cheeks were long gone, replaced by a flush as beautiful as the sunset that only deepened as he caught Yusuf’s eyes on him. Yusuf felt a sharp twinge of pride that even if Deidameia managed to entice Nikolaos to bed, she would never see him like this, would never know how wanton and needy he was for Yusuf and for Yusuf alone.

Yusuf didn’t last long; the sound of his name passing so freely from Nikolaos’ lips along with the feel of him clenching so perfectly around him conspired to bring him to his peak sooner than he would have liked. Nikolaos’ hips kept working against him as he shuddered through his peak, milking every last drop of come from his body until he had to withdraw from the over-stimulation.

“Yusuf.” Nikolaos murmured, his normally bright eyes dark with lust as he dipped his fingers down to trace through Yusuf’s spend.

“Yusuf.” He said again, his voice rough. He brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked them clean, one by one, never breaking eye contact as he did so. “You taste like ambrosia.” He added, his other hand already trailing down his body to collect more of Yusuf’s come.

Yusuf shot his own hand out to still Nikolaos’, and laughed at the noise of disappointment his love made. He instead swiped his own fingers across Nikolaos’ hole before bringing them up to Nikolaos’ lips, the resulting appreciative moan making his spent cock twitch.

As Nikolaos lapped and sucked at his fingers, Yusuf wrapped his other hand around Nikolaos’ cock and started to strip it. When Nikolaos’ mouth went lax with pleasure and Yusuf’s fingers slipped out he instead used them to cup Nikolaos’ balls, gently stroking the soft skin there before trailing them further back, back inside Nikolaos’ needy body.

He wanted to kiss Nikolaos, to drink up the shouts and moans he made as Yusuf worked him towards his peak, but he restrained himself. Nikolaos wanted to be loud, to be heard, and so Yusuf twisted his fingers deeper inside him and bent his head to take one of Nikolaos’ nipples between his teeth and tug, until Nikolaos’ back arched and he came with a cry Yusuf was sure could be heard on Olympus.

“You shall have to convince me to obey my elders more often.” Nikolaos said contentedly later, laying his head down to rest on Yusuf’s shoulder. “I do enjoy your methods of persuasion.”

****

Nikolaos cursed Agamemnon all the way back to his tent. When he was through cursing him he cursed Menelaus, then Odysseus, then Paris. He stopped short of cursing the gods themselves for starting this war all those years ago, and instead went back to cursing Agamemnon.

He’d expected Yusuf to be right behind him, but when he turned round to look his heart was standing a little way away, deep in conversation with Odysseus. The sight of it worried Nikolaos: Odysseus was crafty, and was doubtless trying to persuade Yusuf to change his mind. To persuade Yusuf to change Nikolaos’ mind. It was a cheap move on Odysseus’ part, catching Yusuf on his own. It was well known that his love was the less obstinate of the pair of them, the more open to discussion.

Nikolaos turned away in disgust and headed into his tent. Odysseus could try all he wanted: neither he nor Yusuf would be fighting in this war any longer. In fact, it was probably best if they left, if they took a few men and one of the smaller ships and left the whole mess behind them.

He dropped down onto his bedroll and picked up his lyre, angrily plucking away at the strings in no particular tune to voice his displeasure at the whole situation. It was a better outlet for his frustration than marching back to Agamemnon and stabbing the stubborn man right through his cold dead heart. Barely a minute passed in this manner before Yusuf returned, a solemn expression on his face.

“They asked me to change your mind.” Yusuf said as he sat down opposite Nikolaos. “I’m not even going to pretend to try.”

“Thank you.” Nikolaos glanced up from his lyre to look at Yusuf. There was something troubling his love: he could tell in the way his shoulders were set, in the way he avoided eye contact. He dropped the instrument in favour of moving to sit behind Yusuf, bringing his hands up to massage his shoulders. Yusuf groaned in appreciation and dropped his head forward.

“What’s troubling you? Tell me.” Nikolaos asked as he worked his thumbs into the tight muscle.

“Besides the pigheadedness of our great leader and this damned war?” Yusuf replied dryly. “I think that’s enough to worry about.”

“Hmm.” Nikolaos agreed. There was something else, he was sure, but if Yusuf didn’t want to tell him then he wouldn’t pry. They spent the rest of their evening in silence, and all the while Nikolaos couldn’t help but worry that Yusuf was keeping something from him.

When Nikolaos woke the next day Yusuf was gone. That in itself wasn’t worrying: they often rose at different times, and it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Yusuf to start his day whilst Nikolaos still slept. It was only when Nikolaos rubbed the sleep from his eyes that he realised his armour was missing. No. It couldn’t be. But why wouldn’t Yusuf take his own armour?

Nikolaos scrambled out from his bedroll and out of the tent, pausing only to grab his sword that was thankfully still there. He ran to the edge of the camp and scanned the battlefield below, looking for Yusuf.

There he was. He was wearing Nikolaos’ armour but it was mistakenly Yusuf. It was unmistakably Yusuf and he was surrounded by Trojans, desperately trying to fend the men off as they slowly closed in on him.

Something broke in Nikolaos at the sight, and suddenly he was running, running towards the fight. He wore nothing but his tunic and sandals, wielded nothing but his sword, but he didn’t care. Yusuf needed him, and he’d fight naked with his fists rather than stand and watch a second longer.

With a cry he jabbed his sword up under the nearest Trojan’s helmet, using the element of surprise to his advantage to dispatch the soldier next to him as well. Against all the odds he and Yusuf managed to defeat the circle of soldiers until they stood in a relatively free area of the battlefield. Only then did Yusuf seem to realise what Nikolaos had done.

“Nikolaos?” he asked in disbelief. “Nikolaos, go. Run. You can’t be here.” He gestured loosely at Nikolaos’ lack of armour.

“My place is by your side.” Nikolaos replied obstinately, though now Yusuf was no longer in danger he began to realise just how foolish he had been.

“Go.” Yusuf urged, and there was desperation in his voice. Nikolaos ran.

He made it within several paces of the edge of the fighting when Andromache ran him down from behind. He felt pain, pain like he had never felt before, and he just had time to whisper an apology to Yusuf before he died.

****

Yusuf wouldn’t let them take the body. No, not the body- Nikolaos. He would not let them take his beloved away and burn him to ash, not until Yusuf had finished mourning him.

It felt as though he were living in a dream. He could barely hear the words the men around him spoke, couldn’t feel their arms around him in an attempt to comfort him. He could do nothing but look at Nikolaos’ motionless body and weep, and when all his tears were shed his whole body shook with empty sobs until sleep finally claimed him.

It hurt to look at Nikolaos’ body the next morning. It must have been a cruel trick of the wind, or the light, for it almost looked as though he were simply sleeping. Yusuf could not even bring himself to kiss his forehead before he left: he knew he would not be able to bear the feeling of his love’s cold skin against his lips.

He wasn’t sure if it was grief or rage that led him to strap on his armour and journey from the Greek encampment down to the battlefield. He felt numb all over, his vision tunnelling until all he saw was Andromache, as magnificent and as bloody as ever in the distance. He couldn’t say whether he was hoping to kill her for what she had done to Nikolaos, or if he wanted her to kill him and end his torment. Either way, she was the only thing remaining that mattered in his life.

With a wordless yell he ran at her, somehow avoiding the swords and spears that swung at him as he passed.

She was not expecting such a reckless attack, it seemed, and though she saw him coming and blocked his strike she was on the back foot. Yusuf fought relentlessly, hot tears stinging his eyes and clouding his vision, yet he carried on.

He didn’t know how he did it in the end. It barely even registered until it was over but one minute he was fighting Andromache with a fire that threatened to consume him, and the next she was dead, Yusuf’s sword jammed through the slit in her helmet.

Yusuf fell to his knees, breathless. He had done it. He had avenged Nikolaos’ death. There was nothing else driving him now, no motivation to get up and keep fighting. He was spent. The war had taken everything from him, everything but his own life, and he was tired.

The last thing Yusuf saw was the body of Andromache jerk back to life, her hand wrapping around the hilt of Yusuf’s sword before driving it through his throat.

****

He dreamt of Nikolaos as he died. His Nikolaos, worry written clear across his face. He dreamt of Andromache next, and though he tried to hold onto the image of Nikolaos he felt it slipping away from him, replaced by the woman who had killed him. He saw another woman after, armed with a bow and fierce expression. Artemis, he assumed, and the mournful warrior who followed her must be Ares. He hoped the gods were entertained by his death. Perhaps they would see fit to reward him by reuniting him with Nikolaos.

The dreams faded into black, then strangely into white. Yusuf almost felt as though he were waking from a deep sleep. He braced himself for his first view of the underworld, and opened his eyes.

The first thing Yusuf saw was Nikolaos. He smiled weakly, drinking in the sight of his love. They may be dead, but they were together again. The gods had rewarded them, just as he had hoped.

Nikolaos looked just as he had before he died, not a single scratch or bruise on him. His hair was unbound, falling around his face as he leant over Yusuf as though acting as curtains to block out the world outside. The underworld, Yusuf corrected sombrely.

“I can’t believe you’re alive.” Nikolaos breathed, and suddenly pulled Yusuf up and into his arms.

Yusuf struggled to comprehend his words. He wasn’t alive, and neither was Nikolaos.

“I can’t be.” Was all he said as he returned the hug, though even as he said the words he started to doubt them. Nikolaos was so solid and real and _warm_ between his arms, and the shouts and cries he heard were not what he had imagined the shades of the dead would sound like.

Pulling back from Nikolaos’ embrace he realised they were in the Greek camp, in a tent full of the dead and dying.

“I can’t... I don’t know what happened and I don’t know why but I’m here and you’re alive, Yusuf. We’re alive.” There was wonder in Nikolaos’ voice, and tears on his cheeks, and he was right. They were alive.

“Come. Let’s leave this place.” Nikolaos gave Yusuf no time to either argue or agree, and pulled him roughly upwards until he was standing again. Together they left the wounded behind and slowly walked to their own tent. Yusuf breathed deeply, enjoying the feeling of air in his lungs and the comforting pressure of Nikolaos’ arm wrapped tightly around him. They were alive, and he didn’t know why, but he had never been more thankful for anything in his life.

“I should thank you for not letting them burn my body.” Nikolaos said dryly once they were in the safety of their own tent.

Yusuf couldn’t reply, the pain of seeing Nikolaos’ motionless body still too fresh in his memory. Nikolaos sensed his hesitation and took Yusuf in his arms once again, his fingers rubbing soothing circles into his back.

“I know. I know.” He said softly. “I felt like the ground had been pulled away from me when they brought your body back. Like the sun had lost its warmth, like my own heart had stopped along with yours. But we’re here. We’re alright.”

Yusuf closed his eyes and surrendered to Nikolaos’ embrace. He was right. They were alive, and that how’s and why’s were trivial.

“I need you, Nikolaos.” He said after a while. “We’re alive, but I have to _feel_ it. Let us not squander this gift we’ve been given. Let me love you, Nikolaos.”

“Yes.” Nikolaos answered immediately, taking Yusuf’s face between his hands and kissing him deeply. “Please, Yusuf. I need to forget.”

They undressed in a haste, and Yusuf tried not to let his eyes linger on the spot on Nikolaos’ chest where Andromache’s spear had been but a day ago. Nikolaos’ hands were everywhere, his kisses messy as his fingers skimmed across Yusuf’s shoulders, his chest, his back, as though they couldn’t decide where to land. Eventually they settled on Yusuf’s cock, and if Yusuf had been floating on the joy of having Nikolaos back in his arms, his lover’s hand working him to full hardness was a grounding force. When it all felt like it was too much Yusuf gently pushed Nikolaos’ hands away, and manoeuvred them both so that they were lying on their bed roll.

He worshipped Nikolaos’ body as best he could, tracing his veins with his tongue as though making certain they still carried blood around his body, kissing every inch of his chest as though chasing his heartbeat. Nikolaos was a mess by the time he finally worked his way to his cock, panting and writhing on the blankets as Yusuf moved his mouth closer and closer to where he needed it most. Yusuf needed this as much as Nikolaos did, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he took his love deep into his mouth.

Nikolaos tasted as he always had, and Yusuf eagerly drank him in. Every pass of his tongue, every caress of his lips wrought a moan or sigh from Nikolaos’ mouth, a sign that he was alive and breathing and as wonderful as he always had been. Yusuf stroked himself as he took Nikolaos in all the way until he pushed against the back of his throat, and when Nikolaos shuddered and spent himself in Yusuf’s mouth Yusuf followed him over the edge.

The battle for Helen raged on beyond the flimsy walls of their tent, but to Yusuf it felt like a world away. All that mattered was the man lying next to him, and Yusuf knew that Nikolaos would be all that would _ever_ matter. They had a second chance at life. They would not waste it fighting here.

****

They left the next day. There were no farewells, no apologies. Nikolaos felt guilty for leaving his men behind: they should not suffer and die for the likes of Agamemnon, but soon enough they would realise this themselves. There was nothing more either he or Yusuf could do.

They did not know where to go. To return to Phthia would be to return in shame, and as much as Peleus loved his son and ward he would be honour bound to send them away again. Yusuf suggested catching a ship to Carthage, and Nikolaos readily agreed: he had long wanted to see the land that had given him his heart.

They were a week into their travels when Andromache found them. They were wary, but not surprised: ever since the day when they had returned to life they had dreamt of her, and had come to realise she was the same as them. Undying. Forced into battles she had little desire for.

What was more surprising was the woman who followed Andromache. She was not the other woman from their dreams, yet there was something oddly familiar about her.

“This,” Andromache said, “Is Helen. I promised to take her somewhere no Trojan or Greek will ever get their hands on her again.”

Helen’s hair was a tangled mess, and her eyes were distant with dark bags underneath them. At first glance it was hard to believe this was the woman who so many had died over, but then again: the war had never really been about her. It had been nothing but the greed and pride of men, spurred on by the cruel gods.

Despite her dishevelled appearance, she still carried herself like a queen, tall and proud, and Nikolaos wasn’t sure whether to comfort her or to kneel.

“I’m sorry.” He said eventually. “No one deserves to carry such a burden as you.”

She smiled at that, a slow sad smile that made his heart ache.

“Thank you.” She said. “Some days I felt as though Atlas himself would collapse under the weight of having so many deaths against his name. But I’m free now.” She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at Andromache. “I’m safe.” She added softly.

“We’re headed for Carthage, to start a new life. You can travel with us if you want, and we’ll protect you. We owe you that much at least.” Yusuf said.

“I’m taking her to my sisters. The Amazons. You should journey with us instead.” Andromache said replied swiftly. “They will treat you with the respect you deserve.” She added to Helen, and Helen smiled that small smile of hers again.

“Make no mistake: I can defend Helen myself and have no need for your swords and spears. But we have business, you two and I. Once Helen is safe... we must talk.” Andromache’s tone made it clear that then, and only then, would she answer their questions.

Nikolaos didn’t know how long it would take to reach the Amazons, if he could hold onto his burning questions until then, but Yusuf was already nodding in agreement.

So be it. The Fates had tied the threads of their lives with Andromache’s just as they had woven himself and Yusuf together all those years ago, and there was always a reason for such bindings. He would find out why sooner or later, he knew, and contented himself with the thought that though he travelled with uncertainty into the unknown, he did so with Yusuf by his side. That had always been enough for him. And always would be.

**Author's Note:**

> Where’s Quynh you ask? Well, I uh, may or may not have already started thinking about how I can twist the Odyssey..
> 
> Come find me on tumblr! @tobebbanburg


End file.
